My Darling Caroline (12 page)

He looked back to see her beautiful eyes so expressive, wide with horror, her face white, wisps of dark brown hair stark against her skin and flying loosely in the breeze.

Boldly he kept his eyes locked with hers. “Philip fought me, hitting me in the head with his pistol, over and over, until I fell into the trench, Caroline. Until I fell into a hole of dead and dying humans and horses, where I was covered with blood, with burned and torn flesh, with vomit and human waste. Where I heard the moans of the dying, the battle above, the screams, the terror. Where the smell was obscene, the weight of the dead and bleeding on top of me excruciating…”

His nostrils flared, and he squeezed her hand. “I remained there, weak and dazed, for three full days and nights until I was certain the fighting had subsided and the French had retreated. Men lay beside me, on top of me, below me, moaning, bleeding, gaping at me through the stare of death.

“And through it all I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. I drifted in and out of consciousness from lack of air, from the weight on top of me, nauseated from the pain in my head, from the smell of sickness and blood.”

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes, now clear, round pools of shock. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension beneath his fingers, breathing deeply of the scent of the meadow to help erase the lingering smell of death. He never intended to be so graphic in his detail, but his wife needed to understand, and he wanted her to know everything, know the deepest part of him.

“When I was finally able to break free,” he continued at last, quietly, brokenly, “I was so ill, so weak in mind and body, I could barely move. During the course of several hours I tried to lift myself, stumbling over the remains of good and honest men as I attempted to climb out of the trench. At one point my arm seared right through a man’s body as if it were pudding, his rotting gut just…open and spilling out over my hand and through my fingers.” He shivered and looked down to the blanket. “Cold blood filled my eyes, and I couldn’t wipe it away. I couldn’t wipe it from my skin, my clothes, the smell and feel of it from my mind.

“I fled by walking for miles, blindly and numbly during a cold and moonless night, but I didn’t know who’d won the battle or where to go. Eventually I came upon a farmer and his wife who let me stay with them for several days, recovering. When finally I felt physically ready to move on, I’d learned Wellington was decisively victorious and I joined the British camp. After two weeks of intense discussions and sleepless nights, I left France to return to England, to the safe haven of my home, my family.”

He wiped his shaking hand over his face, fighting to stay in control, watching his wife as she tried to come to terms with what he was saying.

He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Something inside of me snapped that day, as I lay motionless in the grave, and the only thing keeping me together and alive while I waited for the battle to end was remembering Rosalyn. I centered my thoughts on the little girl who needed me, and lying under a massacre of waste and blood and death, I realized how much I needed her. I suddenly felt important to someone, little and fragile as she was, and never again will I lose sight of that.”

He squeezed her hand, his voice fervent. “She is the only thing precious in my life, Caroline, and she depends on me. Nobody except my daughter has ever depended on me for anything, and because of her I will never work like that again. My existence now has a purpose I clearly understand. Government policies, social order, and the fighting can all go to hell when it comes to what truly matters in my life, and Rosalyn is my life.”

He stilled completely after that, his voice, his body, even his breathing, and Caroline found herself so moved by his words that for a moment she could do nothing but look into his eyes as tears spilled onto her cheeks. Only the strongest of men could withstand such inhumanity and live to tell about it, and at that moment she knew her husband was the strongest man she had ever known.

“You’re so brave,” she whispered hoarsely, still unable to move her gaze or her body. She sat with a rigid back, throat closed tightly; then her hand reached up of its own accord and stroked his cheek. He just watched her for several seconds, then covered her hand with his and moved it to his mouth, lightly kissing her palm.

“Now you understand why I need you so, Caroline,” he said huskily, passionately, her palm lightly resting against his lips. “You and my daughter will help me forget and move on. You and Rosalyn have given me beauty to behold, and true beauty will always outshine and envelop the fear within.”

His words touched her deeply, his love for Rosalyn greater than she could have ever imagined. He was baring his soul to her at that moment as she read pain and honesty in the dark green depths of his eyes, and never in her life had she felt such a rush of tenderness toward another human being.

As if reading her thoughts, he reached out and pulled her against his chest. She allowed herself to be led, moving into his arms, resting her palms on the softness of his shirt, kissing his cheek and neck without shame or second thought.

He kissed her in return then, his lips brushing away the tears from her cheeks. Slowly she moved her head down to rest it on his lap, her body and thoughts calming as she stared out to the meadow and his beautiful little girl.

They watched the child together in silence, her head resting on his thighs, his hand lightly stroking her neck. With the smell of flowers in the air and sunshine on her back, Caroline was certain she’d never felt so emotionally close to anyone in her life. With each passing week, she knew she was losing herself to her husband, and even with her mind centered, her thoughts controlled, for the first time ever she didn’t care.

Suddenly, as if sensing the quietness of the moment, Rosalyn looked up and grinned. Then quickly she grabbed at something on the ground and ran to them, standing before them, hand held out.

Caroline sat up and looked at the outstretched palm. In it sat a wild, red rose. Smiling, she closed her fists tightly in front of her chest and held them together, then released her fingers in an upward and outward motion—her gesture for a flower.

Rosalyn watched her closely, then giggled and turned in a full circle. When she stopped she looked back into her eyes, held out her hand, and once more pointed to the rose.

Caroline was cautious, not at all used to such concentration from the girl. After only a brief pause she again, deliberately, used her hands to form the flower gesture she’d created for Rosalyn’s benefit. And once again the girl pointed to the rose, more directly and forcefully, her face contorting with the beginnings of frustration.

Now she was clearly dumbfounded. So apparently was her husband.

“What does she want?” he quietly asked.

“I’m not sure,” she whispered. Then her eyes brightened. “I want to try something, so don’t do anything to distract her.”

That said, she raised herself on her knees so they could see eye to eye, and made little movements from the alphabet she had painstakingly created with her fingers, one for each letter, to spell the word
rose.

Rosalyn looked from her fingers to her father, then back to the flower in her palm. Then she pointed to herself.

Caroline felt the first real flood of excitement. Quickly she placed her hand in the child’s line of sight again and spelled
Rosalyn
with the same finger movements, one for each letter.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m spelling her name.”

“What?”

“Shh…”

After seconds of getting nothing but a puzzled look from the girl, she spelled it again, slowly, with more emphasis on each letter.

The silence became deafening—even the breeze had stopped all movement—and Caroline, waiting for a reaction, had trouble forcing herself to remain still and breathe. Time ceased to exist until Rosalyn’s face suddenly illuminated brilliantly with comprehension. Her little mouth broke out into an enchanting grin as she pointed to her chest, then followed it with the gesture for flower.

The two of them stared. Then Caroline nodded vehemently and fell back hard against the ground.

Brent noticed instantly the change in his wife. Within seconds she’d become ashen and speechless as she gazed upon his daughter, and with that he swiftly pulled himself to his feet.

“What is it, Caroline? What did she do?”

She blinked hard and whispered, “She talked to me…”

“What!”

“Oh, God, Brent, she talked to me,” she repeated, dazed, still looking at Rosalyn, who stood in front of them, clutching her little blue dress, smiling coyly.

He glanced from his wife to his daughter. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?” he asked slowly, skeptically.

Caroline started giggling and crying at the same time, shaking her head in wonder. “She said ‘I’m a flower.’”

His pulse began to race, and he could only bring himself to mumble, “‘I’m a flower?’”

She clasped her hands together in glee, raised her eyes heavenward, then grabbed Rosalyn and hugged her fiercely. “She pointed to herself to say ‘I’ then made the gesture I showed her for flower.”

Brent fell to his knees in front of them, no longer able to stand on his weak and trembling legs. “I don’t understand.”

Caroline laughed and cried as she held his daughter against her chest. “She associated
rose
with
Rosalyn,
similar in spelling and both exquisitely beautiful.” She looked back to him with water-filled eyes, her husky voice rich and ecstatic. “I didn’t know if it would ever be clear for her, Brent, but it is. She used a gesture to communicate with me, to talk to me, and if she said this, she can learn to say anything. She finally understands.”

Wiping her tears with her fingers, Caroline stood and took Rosalyn’s hands. Then together they began jumping, laughing, and spinning around in the meadow.

Brent covered his mouth with his palm, too choked to speak, and for the first time in his miserable life he felt tears fill his eyes—hot and stinging and blurring his vision. He blinked them away as fast as he could, staring at his incredible wife and beautiful daughter as they embraced each other and danced among the wildflowers.

In all of his life, he’d never experienced a feeling like this, a surge of joy so powerful, so intense, it took his breath and melted his heart, bathing him in warmth. Only now, as he watched them in the meadow, did he fully realize exactly what his wife had done for him. He was alive today because of Rosalyn, because he loved her so deeply, and one day he would be able to tell her that because of Caroline.

Suddenly he was on his feet, chasing after them, pouncing on them as he circled their waists with his arms to pull them to the ground, the three of them laughing, tumbling and clinging to each other as they rolled across the grass.

“My girls,” he said in a voice rich with happiness. “My girls…” He nuzzled their necks, one at a time, both of them giggling and squirming beneath him.

Caroline was the first to stop laughing, to stop moving as she rolled on top of him, hair flying, loose from its ribbon, one arm pinned under her husband, the other under Rosalyn, who was now at her side. She grinned, breathing rapidly, releasing her daughter, then wiping her hair from her eyes to see his face.

The look he gave her was beautiful, warm, and filled with pleasure. He was breathing fast, holding her tightly, but his eyes were what grabbed her attention. They were bright and charged with emotion, dark green orbs of longing and thankfulness.

Rosalyn scrambled to her feet and raced toward the house. Caroline didn’t notice, and neither did Brent.

He loosened his arms and placed his palms on her cheeks. “My darling Caroline,” he whispered in the wind.

Then he kissed her deeply, passionately, embracing her fully, his mouth locked with hers in a private communication only they shared.

She ran her fingers through his hair, inhaling the scent that was only her husband’s, relishing in his strength, the hardness of his body beneath hers. She would have given almost anything to allow the moment to last an eternity, to be lost in his touch forever.

She moaned softly, aching with needs untouched when he finally pushed her lips from his. He ran his fingers over her swollen mouth and flaming cheeks, then back through her hair.

“Caroline…” he said softly, gently cupping her head. “Thank you.”

She stared into a sea of vivid hazel-green, blinking back her tears of warmth and joy. Then Rosalyn was kneeling beside her once more, tugging on her gown for attention.

She looked up, in the direction of the house, and to her complete mortification, all three of her sisters stood no more than thirty feet away, staring at her in stunned disbelief.

“Oh, God, they’re early,” she murmured, coming to her senses quickly as she pushed against her husband. He held her firmly and chuckled.

“Brent, let me go,” she said frantically. “They’ll think—”

“They’ll think what?”

He was grinning unashamedly, and that made her mad. “Let me go!”

“Kiss me again.”

She gaped at him. “They’ll see us.”

“They’ve already seen us, Caroline. Kiss me…”

“No!”

He grinned rakishly. “Kiss me, or I’ll give them something to really talk about.”

She rolled her eyes and lowered her head to give him a peck on the cheek. Instead, he pulled her head forcefully against his once more and smothered her mouth until she became breathless.

At last he released her. “Do you know what I think, Caroline?”

“I don’t care,” she countered, pushing herself up.

He smiled. “I think your sisters will think you’re happy.”

She stared at him, feeling strangely defeated. “I
am
happy.”

Quickly turning her face away, she smoothed her hair behind her head with trembling hands and stood, brushing grass from her skirt.

Not only that, my sweet, brave husband,
she allowed herself to admit with a sinking heart.
They’ll think I’m falling in love with you.